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going to put
Whistlejacket
once I finally wrest it from your iron grip.’
    Barrington smiled. ‘And where might that be?’
    ‘In my study, opposite my desk. That way I’ll see it when I’m working.’
    ‘I would have thought you’d want it in your bedroom.’ Barrington moved to the credenza and poured brandy into two glasses. ‘That way, you’d see it most of the time.’
    ‘True, but I would only be paying it half as much attention.’ Crew’s smile widened into a grin. ‘After all, there are so many
other
pleasurable things to occupy oneself with in the bedroom, wouldn’t you agree?’
    The question was rhetorical. Lord Richard Crew’s reputation as a lady’s man was honestly come by because, in point of fact, Crew adored women. He had ever since a buxom dairy maid had introduced him to the pleasures of Venus in the loft of his father’s barn, followed in quick succession by three of the housemaids, two of the village shop girls, and a married woman Crew had steadfastly refused to name.
    As he’d grown into a man, his appreciation for the fairer sex had not waned, but out of respect for his parents, he’d left off tupping the household servants and moved on to ballet dancers and actresses. He had steadfastly avoided marriage and refused to trifle with virgins or débutantes, saying it was a matter of pride that he had never deflowered an innocent or given false hope to a well-born lady. And once it became known that he preferred his women uncomplicated and experienced, the list of married ladies willing to accommodate his voracious appetite grew.
    Hence Barrington’s surprise when, during the investigation of the Marchioness of Yew’s infidelity, he’d learned that his good friend was finally in honest pursuit of the lady’s very respectable and exceedingly lovely nineteen-year-old daughter, Rebecca.
    ‘Sexual conquests aside, dare I hope you’ve come with news about the identity of Lady Yew’s alleged lover?’ Barrington enquired.
    ‘Nothing alleged about it.’ Crew strolled towards the desk and picked up a glass in his long, slender fingers. ‘I happened to be in the lady’s house on the occasion of the young man’slast visit and saw them acting very lover-like towards one another.’
    ‘How convenient. Were you there in hopes of seeing the lovely Lady Rebecca or to question the mother?’
    ‘Most definitely the former.’ Crew raised the glass to his nose and sniffed appreciatively. ‘Unlike our young Romeo, I have no interest in romancing ladies over the age of thirty. The bloom has long since gone from that rose.’
    ‘But with maturity comes experience,’ Barrington said, reaching for his own glass. ‘A gently reared miss of nineteen will know nothing of that.’
    ‘Fortunately, I am more than willing to teach her all she needs to know.’ Crew swallowed a mouthful of brandy, pausing a moment to savour its flavour before sinking into a chair and resting his booted feet on the edge of the desk. ‘However, returning to the matter at hand, the gentleman in question is not our typical Lothario. I’ve never heard his name mentioned in association with lady
or
ladybird; in truth, I’d never heard of
him
until his arrival in London just over a month ago. So the fact he has chosen to dally with a marquess’s wife is somewhat unusual.’
    ‘Are you sure they
are
lovers?’
    Crew shrugged. ‘Lady Rebecca confided her belief that they are. She told me she’s seen the gentleman enter her mother’s private quarters on more than one occasion, and, as I was leaving, I saw them myself going upstairs together hand in hand.’
    ‘Damning evidence indeed,’ Barrington said. ‘And reckless behaviour for a man newly arrived in London. Does he suffer from a case of misplaced affection or unbridled lust?’
    ‘Knowing the marchioness, I suspect the latter,’ Crew said in a dry voice. ‘It’s well known she favours younger menbecause her husband is a crusty old stick twenty-five years